


heart of the sea

by whovian91011



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, F/M, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2020-10-27 16:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whovian91011/pseuds/whovian91011
Summary: With his family having lost the last of their fortune, Jon Snow, engaged to Daenerys Targaryen, a young heiress of a considerable fortune, boards the Titanic with the singular thought of his family moving him forward. During its maiden voyage, he meets a young woman who has turned her luck around by winning a ticket to board the ship of dreams.A traveling, impoverished writer, Sansa wishes nothing more than to return to her family but finds herself in a whirlwind romance with the illustrious Jon Snow. What neither of them anticipates is what’s waiting for them out at sea…





	1. Chapter 1

_April 9th 1912_

Heart pounding inside her chest, Sansa Stark pushed her way through the crowded barroom. It was hardly the establishment for a lady, but as she had come to terms in recent years, she had to make do with the cards she had been dealt.

An apt description of what she was about to do next.

“Hello, boys,” the redhead greeted cajolingly. She approached the table full of men, men from all walks of life and none of them easy. Among them were trade workers and seafarers, even one or two businessmen whose luck had run dry. The one thing they all had in common was their love of gambling. This evening’s game of choice was poker. Actually, that was always the game of choice.

“’lo, red,” greeted an English speaking gentleman whose name Sansa could never remember. “Fancy a game?”

“When have I not?” she asked, dropping into the seat said gentleman had nudged out for her with his foot. Dressed in in male attire that was two sizes too big for her stature, she knew she stood out rather obviously among the crowd. Ordinarily, she preferred women’s traditional dresses, but over the course of her few years in Europe as an unsuccessful writer, she learned to appreciate men’s trousers for what they were, light and easy to travel in.

The game had been nearing an end by the time she had arrived, and soon a new one was being dealt, with the dealer cutting her in. She rarely missed a poker night, but when one of the Italian fellows had bragged about gambling with two tickets to board Titanic, she had to come see for herself.

And there they were right in front of her. Crisp, cream colored tickets trimmed neatly in black. She stared at them all the while concealing the growing hunger she felt inside her. No, it was better to school your features than let the others see your emotions. It was the one element of poker that could never be underestimated. That and the fact that she was a woman, playing a man’s game – well, here’s the hoping the underestimation working in her favor.

She had no money to her name and no way to get back home to America. The way she saw it, this game was her only shot at getting back to her family in New York.

All of her family was there. Her father and mother Ned and Catelyn Stark, along with her three brothers one sister, Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Arya Stark respectively. Her younger brother Bran had injured himself in a horseback riding incident when he was eight years old, crippling him for life. Being from a modest family household, medical bills were expensive, and her family needed help. Hearing good things about the European market for writing, Sansa had packed her bags and set sail for England. When it became apparent she wasn’t flourishing there, she set off to Italy, then Germany, and finally France. Surprisingly, she had all right in France but only because she had bummed off rooms with the sorts of people the upper crust of society tended to look down their nose upon. In her experiences, the people who had taken her in were some of the kindest humans she had ever had the fortune to have met.

Sansa eyed her fellow players over her cords, observing them casually. Experience taught her all about the ways in which people interacted, the fronts they put on, and other useful information. She knew these men well enough to know the tells if they were lying. The German businessman, for instance, always rubbed the back of his neck when he was nervous, a sure sign that he was lying. Whether or not he had a good hand made no difference; his nerves always got the better of him, usually resulting in him folding before he ought.

The little Italian seafarer, a stocky fellow with a Napoleon complex which made up for his stature, could never stay still, especially whenever he was excited. If he ever got dealt a good hand, his eyes glimmered like a child’s at Christmas, a sure sign for Sansa to fold before she settled the little she had into the winnings pile in the center of the table.

The two French traders, she assumed to be brothers, were an arrogant pair if she ever saw them. Their poker faces were far superior to their gambling comrades, but the arrogance was their undoing. Often, they bickered as well as strategized back and forth in French, believing that no one at the table could understand them.

Sansa’s mother had inherited enough money from the Tullys to properly educate her children, although that money was long gone by now. She made sure that all of her children, especially her girls, were well versed in many subjects, languages being one of them. By the time one took her years with the French prostitutes as learning experience, Sansa’s French was near perfect. She was wise to many of the different dialects of the French language, and these two Frenchmen were no exception.

Keeping her face carefully blank, she listened as they argued over whether or not to bluff their hand. One of them had a straight flush and the other a four of a kind. Not the highest ranking of hands but pretty damned good ones compared to what she had, an ace, a five, a six, and a pair of threes. It didn’t matter if her hand was shit. It only mattered if everyone else believed she got the royal flush.

After enduring yet another French bickering match, Sansa sat back in her seat, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. Her forgotten named friend noticed and raised an inquisitive brow, just as she had hoped he would. “Got yourself a good hand there?”

“I believe I do,” she remarked, slipping in some satisfaction into her voice. “In fact, it’s the best hand I’ve ever been dealt. I almost can’t believe it.”

The Italian fellow squinted at her. “What kind of hand?”

Sansa smirked boldly. “A royal flush.”

Half the men cursed and the two Frenchmen laughed. “There’s no way, mademoiselle,” one of them chuckled. “No one is ever the lucky.”

“Maybe,” she conceded a little, then tilted her head in their direction. “But how much are you willing to bet that I’m wrong?”

She eyed her friend, who appeared to have picked up on her scheme. He tossed her a secretive smile before folding. She smiled, feeling extremely grateful. His sacrifice would benefit her cause.

“Henrich, you embarrass us,” one of the Frenchmen decried. “Folding to a woman!”

Henrich simply smiled. “I have always lived by my gut. It has never let me down before, so I won’t start ignoring it now.” With everyone else fixated on their cards, he gave her a tiny wink. She gave him a small smile before neutralizing her features once more.

“What’s it going to be, gentlemen?” she demanded lightly. “Who at this table can beat a royal flush?”

Gradually, one by one the other men reluctantly folded, unwilling to lose the meager earnings they had managed to win thus far. The only ones that remained were the Frenchmen, who were eyeing her with a great deal of suspicion. Sansa was unperturbed. She’d met with worse French politicians than this. Another story for another occasion.

Taking another glance at the tickets, she noted they were third class. Steerage. Aye, she lived in worse places. She could handle herself. The date on the ticket was marked for the following morning, April 10th. When she won the pot, she reminded herself to get a good night’s rest so she wouldn’t miss the ship.

The Frenchmen bickered again for quite a time before falling into a sullen silence. Then one of them cursed quite colorfully, a combination of both French and English before slamming his hand down, revealing a four of a kind. The other one took significantly longer before very reluctantly dropping his hand, a straight flush.

Finally, Sansa allowed her true satisfaction to show. She went to reach for the pile before a French hand snapped over her wrist. Their eyes locked. “No. First you show hand. Then you take money.”

“My apologies,” she remarked dryly. “You must forgive me. I’m only a woman, and I rarely win at poker.” She heard a barely controlled cough next to her and knew that Henrich was doing his best to conceal his laughter. “Now kindly remove your hand from my wrist so that I may do so.”

Only when he released did Sansa rise to her feet and tip her hand, smiling to herself at the resulting uproar. She quickly tucked away her winnings, pocketing the Titanic tickets into the pocket closest to her person.

Then she turned and slipped Henrich a few bills, leaning forward to murmur, “A token of my appreciation for your trouble, which you didn’t have to do. Thank you.” She kissed the side of his head and smiled to herself as she walked out of the pub, three times richer than what she was when going in.

But the money hardly mattered to her. The third class steerage tickets were worth their weight in gold to her. Perhaps she could offer the other ticket as payment for her room at the inn. This was the ship of dreams after all. Who wouldn’t want to take the chance of a lifetime?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I finally updated! XD

_April 10th_

Muttering underneath his breath, Jon allowed his mother to adjust his tie for the umpteenth time. However, he did draw the line at her attempting to smoothing down his curls. A man had to preserve some dignity. _Or what little I have left anyway_, he thought bitterly.

“Don’t be like that,” Ruth DeWitt Bukater-Snow hissed, giving a reproachful look. “You need to look your best today.”

“I understand that, mother, but all of ruffling of my hair won’t make it any more manageable,” he pointed out. “It’s settled in its fate as am I.”

“Well, I’m certainly not,” she sniffed. “Oh, Jon, it’s as if I’m the only one happy with this match.”

_You are_, he wanted to interject, _you and the Targaryens, as far as they know_, but he wouldn’t dare. His mother was a difficult woman, he wasn’t blind to that, though he suspected if he had been her daughter, she would have been far worse. 

The thought must have shown in his face because she turned to him, her expression suddenly grim. “You know this is the last hope for us,” she reminded him quietly, very conscious of the ears all around them in the upscale London restaurant. “Your father left us with nothing but his gambling debts. Our house, all of our possessions, the ones we’ve managed to take with us, all gone. And no one ever has to know a thing. This marriage will secure our… your future. Would you see your mother as a seamstress in a rundown factory with blistered fingers?”

Despite his earlier agitation, Jon felt a tug of sympathy for his mother’s distress and reached out to take her hand. He squeezed it gently, and not for the first time since the news of his engagement, he cast away his desires and thought of his mother. “You won’t have to live your life as a seamstress. I promise you, mother.”

Smiling, Ruth Snow reached over to touch his cheek. “I knew I could count on you, my boy.” Then she glanced over towards the door and immediately straightened. “Goodness, they’re here. Viserys, Daenerys, darlings, how you are?”

Jon immediately rose to his feet as was custom and greeted the Targaryen siblings as they approached their table. 

“Lady Snow, you’re looking as lovely as ever,” Viserys greeted with the charm of a snake. He slithered over to his mother and kissed the back of her hand. Jon fought back a grimace while his mother all but melted from the attention. The promise of riches and luxury tended to have that effect on her.

“My dear, Daenerys, your brother is quite the charmer,” Ruth remarked, turning towards the young woman, all smiles. “He must have learned it from you.”

Laughing lightly, Daenerys returned her warm smile. “You’re absolutely right. He gets his best traits from me.”

Viserys protested. “But I’m older.”

She stared at him pointedly. “And?”

Jon remained quiet throughout the banter, instead pulling out a seat for Daenerys, who then gave him a playfully affronted look. “Is that any way to treat your fiancé?”

Jon smiled a little. “Forgive me. The drive as a long one.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek only to be met with her lips when the blonde purposefully turned her face in anticipation. Her lips were soft yet cold against his own, the brief contact was fleeting. Still, that seemed to suffice her, and they all took their seats.

“So was the ride here? Not too troublesome, I hope,” his mother inquired as the tea was served.

Daenerys shook her head. “Actually, it was quite wonderful, Lady Snow. I’ve always enjoyed a good drive, especially in the city. To observe all walks of life. My brother though, doesn’t particularly care for it but any excuse to take out the new model.”

“Please call me, Ruth, my dear, or better yet, mother, since you’re soon to be my daughter,” Ruth remarked and turned her eyes to her bother, “And you my son-in-law.”

The glint in Viserys’s eyes at the mere hint of marriage made Jon’s skin crawl. He was just as money hungry as any spoiled trust fund brat he had ever come across. “It would be an honor.”

“And you must call me Dany,” his fiancé insisted. She looked at him with a knowing smile. “And you as well. We’re to be wed. No need to be so formal.”

Jon smiled briefly before focusing his attention on his tea.

The group dined on breakfast sandwiches and tea and were just finishing when Daenerys recalled she had an appointment to pick up her coat at the cleaners. “It’s a brand new white fur coat, and I must have it for the Titanic’s maiden voyage. I heard the Atlantic winds can be quite chilly.”

“I’ll go retrieve it for you,” Jon volunteered before she decided to get it herself.

Delighted with his generosity, Dany asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Just write down the address, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll care of the cost while Viserys can foot the bill.” He added the last part with more relish than he intended, but the sour expression on his soon to be brother-in-law’s face was worth it.

With the address to the cleaner’s in his grasp, Jon bid the group farewell and promised to meet them back the hotel. He kissed his mother on the cheek, gave a nod to Viserys, and would’ve forgotten to kiss Dany if she hadn’t reached for him.

He had to double check on the time. It was a quarter past nine in the morning. Titanic was to set sail for 12:00 P.M.

\---

“Oh, Sansa, you must hurry, or you’re going to miss the ship!” her landlady cried out as she caught sight of the time.

“I’m just about ready! I’m looking for my notebook,” Sansa reassured her while looking hurriedly for that and the pen that went with it. It was the one thing she had splurged on during her stay in Europe. It was a nice leather bound journal with flakes of gold along the edges. She was fortunate to purchase a fountain pen with it as a set. 

She was digging around for it in underneath her mattress when she finally found it. She let out a tiny victorious cry and shoved it inside her bag, along with a few outfits the woman insisted that she take with her. It wasn’t right for a proper lady to travel about in trousers and shirts. That was why she fully intended to change into a dress as soon as she got onto the ship, at least that’s what Sansa promised her. She never broke a promise.

She felt guilty to leave the room in such a state, but as her landlady had said, she was cutting it close. She was just about to exit the room, her one bag slung over her shoulder when she was called out to the front.

“Before you go, can you tend to the gentleman out front?” her landlady asked. “I have to retrieve a coat for him. Keep him company for him before you go, aye?”

“All right,” Sansa agreed reluctantly, throwing another glance at the pocket watch. It was almost 10:00 in the morning, and it took nearly forty-five minutes to arrive at the docks on foot. She anticipated there would be large crowds. According to her ticket, it set sail for 12:00 P.M. sharp. The last thing she needed was to babysit some rich schoolboy or even worse yet businessmen who couldn’t do their own pressing.

She slipped her bag off her shoulder as she arrived at the front but kept it close so when her landlady returned, she could get the ground running. Then the gentleman in question turned around, making her stop in her tracks.

In her European travels, Sansa couldn’t remember eve seeing a man so handsome. Unruly hair as dark was midnight, with warm brown eyes equally dark, this man bore his naturally chiseled looks far too well. Suddenly, she forgot all about her impending departure. Titanic? What was that?

The man looked up, looking seemingly surprised as she was to see him. He smiled at her then, and noted how the smile reached his eyes, making him even lovelier. “Hello.”

“… yes, hello,” Sansa replied when her brain remembered how to process speech. “She’ll be right out with your coat. Shouldn’t be too long now.”

“It’s no rush… well, actually, that’s not true,” he chuckled ruefully. “It’s sort of a last minute thing, one that I’ve brought upon myself.” He looked around the shop, seemingly restless. “I do have a boat to catch.”

“The Titanic?” she asked. She didn’t know what possessed her to ask, but the compulsion forced her to do it. And she was glad she did, because he know looked at her with a look of bewildered amusement.

“Yes… actually,” he replied slowly. “How did you know?”

“That’s where I’m headed, too,” she said, “as soon as you get your coat, I’ll be on my way. I should get there just before eleven.”

The man’s brows furrowed. “By eleven? It shouldn’t take that long to get to the docks. Are you intending to walk?”

She knew he was joking, but she couldn’t help but bristle at the slight judgement in his voice. “They haven’t let me down so far. Not all of us can afford fancy vehicles.”

His cheeks colored. “I apologize, miss. I didn’t mean to imply…”

“Here you go, Mr. Snow,” her landlady remarked breathlessly, scurrying out from the backroom to meet and made her way around the counter. “The bill has already been paid, so you’re good to go.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at her before his eyes automatically returned to Sansa’s. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “Say, you’re heading to the docks, too, correct?”

Sansa answered warily, “Yes?”

“That’s an awfully long walk, especially with these crowds, today of all days. Why don’t you take a ride with me?”

Sansa had long learned that the adage of not trusting strangers barely held any water, but still she couldn’t help herself. “I don’t often go traveling with strange men when I don’t know their names.”

The man smiled as he shifted the garment back in his arms. “My name is Jon Snow. So now you now.” A twinkle of amusement entered his eyes. “Though I still don’t know yours. And I don’t often go traveling with strange women where I don’t even know their name.”

He was baiting her, she noticed, and she actually found herself enjoying it. “I’m Sansa Stark.” She had her bag back on her shoulder by the time her landlady had come out with his garment bag, and now they were alone again. “I suppose we know each other now. I’ll kindly take you up on your offer. Thank you.”

She extended her hand, a bold move for a woman, but Jon seemed to not be bothered by it. In fact, he seemed charmed by it. His hand was larger than her own, warmer and rougher against her own. She was reluctant to release it when social propriety required it, and for a moment, she thought he appeared to feel the same way.

Then Jon Snow held out his arm towards her. “Shall we go?”

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, Sansa felt herself melting underneath his charming smile. She accepted his arm. “We shall. Bon voyage!”


	3. Chapter 3

With what little belongings she possessed stuffed into one bag, Sansa followed this curious Snow to his vehicle. Her eyebrows rose at the sight of it. It was certainly one of the more top of the line manufactured cars, under which corporation she couldn’t name. All she knew was it was expensive, although it shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he had been picking up a fur coat for his… girlfriend? Fiancé?

Ignoring this line of thought, the redhead approached the rich man’s car, pleasantly surprised as he followed to open the door. Smiling politely, she slipped inside, running her fingers along the plush seats as she watched him hurriedly make his way towards the driver’s seat. Somehow, his haste didn’t appear to disturb his demeanor. There was a casual grace about him, and she admired it quite a lot.

“Now that we’re established on a first name basis,” Jon remarked after sliding into the driver’s seat and igniting the engine, “I suppose it’s only to a natural transition to inquiring of where you’re headed.”

“Once we disembark the Titanic you mean?” she asked. At his affirmative hum, she thought of her response. It was true that growing up her family had earned a modest income, and that the medical expenses to tend to her youngest brother Bran had delivered the Starks a financial blow. What she had only learned quite recently was that her eldest brother Robb Stark had become quite financially successful in New York, practically overnight. Her brother’s newfound success in the manufacturing industry – of what consumer items she wasn’t entirely certain. Apparently, he had so much success and the business had expanded to such a state their father agreed to help his out his son. The Starks were now part of a group that high society would deem as new money and often sneered at by those who had old money.

Sansa had yet to accept any of her brother’s offers of providing funds during her European travels for several reasons. First, involved her pride. She wished to try to live on her own means, which proved incredibly challenging at many times. Secondly, she had been afraid to accept any money when she remembered the days when money and other resources were scarce for their family. She was only one person, and she could fend for herself. It couldn’t have been anticipated by how much and how quickly Robb’s success would turn the tide of the Starks’ life.

Recognizing that Jon hadn’t appeared to know the name of stark when she had given her name, Sansa decided on telling the truth, with some obvious omissions. She had no desire to impress him with her family’s newfound wealth, nor did she want him to think less of her for it. “I haven’t seen my family for a few years now. I’d like to stay with them for a while before I make my next move.”

Jon nodded, curious. “And what will your next move be?”

Sansa shrugged. “I’m not really sure. Wherever life takes me, I guess.”

“I envy that,” he admitted, guiding the car into the slowly increasing traffic. “It’s as if my entire life has been mapped out for me, one that I’ve yet to have a hand in charting.”

Sansa looked at him closely and knew that he was speaking the truth. With a sympathetic smile, she remarked, “Life is too short to live by someone else’s rules.”

Jon sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” she replied, holding her bag more securely on her lap. “You should live your life the way you want.” As the traffic in the street brought them to a slow crawl, her gaze met his. “If there was one thing you could do with your life, something that didn’t fit into this arranged plan of yours, what would it be?”

Jon stared at her for such a long time, dumbfounded, Sansa began to wonder if she overstepped her bounds. Then he finally remarked, slowly, “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.”

That statement alone had Sansa’s heart aching for the man sitting beside her. All the money and affluency in the world couldn’t provide anyone with fulfillment and genuine happiness. Perhaps on some superficial level it could, but from what she’d learned about Jon Snow in the past hour was that he did not belong in the superficial category.

As the traffic finally eased up, Jon’s attention was forced back to the road ahead. In the distance, Titanic and the incredibly crowded docks were just ahead. It was only a matter of waiting out the drivers and to keep their place in line. And they were still in excellent time.

“To fall in love,” he responded softly. The delay had been so long she believed he wouldn’t answer, but when he finally did, it certainly took her by surprise. Most men would say wanting all the money and power in the world, others would say to start a family to carry on their family name. “To start a family, a large one preferably. I’m an only child, you see, so that could explain my wanting a large family. To have happy family holidays and be able to support them, indulge them but not spoil them.” His grip relaxed on the wheel, his body relaxing as if lost in the revere. “I dunno. It sounds simple, ordinary, but that’s something I want, I think.”

Sansa smiled, fighting back the tears at the lovely imagery. Christ, what was wrong with her? Such a silly reaction, after all, but she just couldn’t help it. “That’s lovely. Though I must warn you, coming from a large family myself, it’s not always easy. Especially if you’re the middle child. Always getting blamed for everything.”

Jon glanced over at her, smiling now. “I take it you’re the middle child. Of how many?”

“Well, not quite middle. There’s four of us. I’ve got an older brother, a younger sister, and a brother who’s the youngest. The best part about having younger siblings is that you always have someone else to cast the blame on.”

Jon laughed heartily, which made Sansa giggled. “That’s ideal, isn’t it?”

Sansa grinned. “It certainly is.”

They arrived at the docks nearly half an hour later. It was just as crowded as it had been from a distance, maybe even more. Still, Sansa couldn’t help but gaze around wondrously. All walks of life would be boarding what many have called the ship of dreams. 

Stepping out of the vehicle, she stared at the beauty of the ship, struck by wonder at the sheer size and magnificence of it. From the other side of the vehicle, she heard Jon making arrangements with a first class attendant regarding his vehicle. It was then she realized here they would part. She was very conscious of the third class ticket tucked away inside her pocket.

Jon sighed with relief as he approached her. “Now that’s done. I suppose it’s time to board.” He offered her his arm once again, but this time she declined to take it. He frowned. “What is it?”

“I’m afraid this is where we say goodbye,” Sansa replied regretfully. At his look of confusion, she quietly slipped out her passenger ticket and presented it to him, her cheeks burning with irrational shame.

Jon’s frown deepened. He was a part of English “polite” society. He knew very well what that meant. Third class was just a polite way of phrasing steerage, a term he absolutely detested. He wasn’t entirely familiar with maritime matters but knew enough the conditions in third class were not exactly the same as first class. In fact, they could only be described as downright deplorable, depending on the owning company. Although, he did recall Dany’s brother boasting about how extraordinary this ship was, that “even those in steerage are elevated to the presence of royalty.”

He looked around them until he spotted the entrance for first class, which appeared to be running smoothly with little complications. Then his gaze drifted towards the steerage line, which was awfully cramped and log-jammed. Multiple attendants conducting health inspections of each individual third class, examining hair, skin, and cuticles to a point where it was downright invasive. Health inspections were a wise course of action but not if they weren’t enforced or all classes.

Just imagining Sansa being subjected to such treatment was enough to make Jon’s blood boil. “Not quite yet we’re not.” He took her hand. “Follow me.”

Jon guided a surprised Sansa towards the first class entrance. They didn’t have to wait long, which provided a strong contrast from the third class entrance. When they finally made it to the front, the attendant asked for their tickets, and Jon gave it to him. Sansa’s face burned at the sudden accusing look the attendant sent her way.

“I’m sorry, miss, but you belong in the other…”

Jon squared his shoulders firmly. “She’s with me.”

The attendant blinked. “Sir, I must insist, this goes against policy…” His voice died at the irritated set of Jon’s jaw. Without another word, he granted them entrance. “Wel-welcome to Titanic.”


	4. Chapter 4

If she had been impressed by the sheer size of the exterior of Titanic, the further she traveled inside the ship, the more breathtaking it became. The inside was just as grandiose as the outside, especially the grand staircase. The rich carvings in the oak work curving upwards leading to the next floor drew her gaze upwards towards the domed ceiling. The sheer beauty of it took her breath away.

Sansa had heard a great many things about the Titanic prior to that poker game in which she won her tickets. The ship was rumored to have a large swimming pool that was nearly a quarter of the size of the ship, Turkish baths, squash courts, and a gym. Barbershops and hair salons were also rumored to be housed somewhere among the ship. However, what Sansa was most excited about was the library. It was supposed to be one of the very finest libraries created thus far of the twentieth century. And she most likely wouldn’t be able to visit any of them, because they were only available to first class passengers.

“Thank you, Jon, but you didn’t have to do that,” Sansa murmured, her arm still securely tucked inside his.

“Of course I did,” Jon replied. She suspected there was more to it than that, but nothing else was said. As if just realizing where he was for the first time, he took in everyone around them, just as enchanted. “Blimey, this is incredible. Mr. Andrews certainly knows how to build a ship. Bloody hell.” Realizing his slip, his face turned red as he looked back towards her. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend…”

Sansa laughed, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “It’s all right. Believe me, I’ve heard far worse. Honestly, I’ve said far worse, especially when I’ve stubbed my toe against a hard oaked trunk at near by bed early in the morning.”

Jon laughed as well. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Specifically from experience.”

The room gradually filled with more people, almost all from first class. Groups of well dressed women and men admired their surroundings, some carrying little furry dogs who had experienced more pampering in their short lives than those that lived on the outside of the upper crust of society. Still, Sansa fought the urge to reach out pet them. She was only human after all.

But then she began to notice something that she was all too familiar with. For much of her stays in her European travels, Sansa often donned the shirt and trousers as those were more maneuverable in her travels. If she ever stepped into a setting that predominantly held those members of high society, the looks she would receive were anything but circumspect. Scandalized, disapproving, disparaging, suspicious looks for a woman who dared to wear anything but long dresses. She was used to them, and they no longer bothered her.

Only now that she was in the company of Jon that it did.

“I better go.” She slipped her arm from his, ignoring the flutter in her chest at his frown. “Thanks for the ride. And again, for helping me inside.”

“Do you have to go?”

Sansa smiled wryly. “Steerage, remember? And, well…” She ran a hand down the side of her trousers, his gaze following her motion. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way.”

She turned to go when he caught her hand. “I hope to see you again, before we disembark.”

Jon’s dark gaze was bright, hopeful, and Sansa’s smile softened. “This is a pretty big ship. But perhaps not that big.”

The redhead turned and found a steward to point her in the direction of third class accommodations before she could convince herself to remain in Jon Snow’s company.

\---

Jon made his way out onto the deck with the other first class passengers. He was certain his mother, fiancé, and soon to be brother-in-law were somewhere onboard but didn’t feel compelled to seek them out quite yet. He stood at the rail and stared down below as the crowds began to wane so that those that remained were there to see their loved ones off.

Curiosity got the better of him, so he looked at the decks below, which were crowded with second and third class passengers, all clamoring together eager to give their bon voyage. He glanced at his pocket watch and knew the ship would depart at any minute.

He spotted a young girl being hoisted onto her father’s shoulders so that she could see. She waved and called out, bright and cheerful even through the noise of the crowd. The sound of her gleeful laughter warmed Jon’s heart and made him smile.

The atmosphere on the first deck was more reserved, but he could tell from their expressions they were just as excited to set sail on the Titanic’s maiden voyage. Decorum didn’t allow them to display it so opulently, which presented such an irony Jon didn’t know what to do with.

“Jon!”

Startled from his thoughts, he turned at the sound of his name, half expecting to see Sansa there, disregarding the class stations just because she could. Only it wasn’t the wild waves of red he had been expecting. It was the elegantly styled, somewhat faded red, of his mother, accompanied by the shorter stature of his fiancé. He cast aside his disappointment and plastered a smile as he greeted them.

“There you are! I was wondering where you wandered off to,” his mother admonished him lightly, though judging by the lightest press of her nails into his wrist, he knew to take her words as anything but. “Dany, dear, you’ll have to keep both eyes on him. He’s a wanderer. Just like his father.”

Jon stiffened at the comparison and knew his mother had not intended it as a compliment. His father had left them penniless and insurmountable debt. They had sold everything they had owned with the exception of the clothes off their backs and what they brought with them for the voyage. Discreetly, he removed himself from her grasp and turned his attention to Daenerys when he noticed someone that wasn’t her brother in their company.

The blonde noticed and smiled. “Oh, Jon, this is Jorah Mormont. He’s been employed with my family for several years. He’s a very good man and friend.”

Jon and Jorah shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you at least,” Jorah greeted. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you.”

Jon hesitated a moment. He wished he could have said the same, but never had he heard the name Jorah Mormont come up in conversation. Still, he remembered himself and smiled politely in return. “And you as well, sir. I’m glad to know Dany has someone else to talk to for the duration of the voyage. I’m afraid I may bore her to tears.”

Daenerys and his mother chuckled appropriately while Jorah offered a faint smile. There was a flicker of something unreadable in the older man’s gaze, something that Jon couldn’t place. “Where’s your brother?” he asked, once more turning his attention back to the blonde.

Daenerys struggled against a sigh. “Probably pestering some poor steward boy.” The thought made her grimace. Jon sympathized with her, although he had only just met her brother. The only other person that could rival Viserys Targaryen’s vain, snobbish arrogance was perhaps his own mother.

“I’ll go find him and pluck him out of any trouble he’s causing,” Jorah volunteered, although he appeared less than thrilled to do so. Again, Jon felt another twinge of sympathy.

Daenerys smiled in relief and placed her hand on his chest. “Thank you. I owe you.”

Jorah’s smile reached his eyes. “It’s my pleasure.” Their gazes lingered before he drifted into the crowds.

Jon didn’t notice the interaction between them, although his mother certainly had. He was far to busy idly searching the lower decks for glimpse of wild red curls. So preoccupied was he that the sudden blaring of the ship’s horn nearly had him jumping out of his skin.

Giggling, Daenerys gingerly looped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. “Say goodbye to England, Jon,” she remarked, gazing at the enthusiastic waving of people below. “We won’t be back for a very long time.”

Just as Jon turned his gaze to look at her did he miss the sight of Sansa Stark, below on third deck, gazing up at the pair with a wounded look. Oh, yes, this ship was definitely not big enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Titanic departed from the dock and set sail to the open sea. Increasingly more people left the decks to explore the ship as the ship drew further away from civilization, though Sansa remained, marveling at the sight. She always had a fondness for architecture, landscapes, the ocean. If only she had been gifted with photography, even then she didn’t believe she could capture the beauty of the moment.

But she could sure as hell write about it.

Digging out her journal and a pen, Sansa claimed an abandoned spot close at the read of the deck and began to write, describing everything around her in as much detail as she could, what she was seeing, how she was feeling. When she had first set foot onto the deck, she had been at a loss for words, but from the moment her pen touched the paper, the words poured out from places she didn’t know she possessed.

When her hand began cramping, she closed her journal, recapped her pen, and tucked them both away into her bag and looked outward. They had gone out further beyond the mainland now, and being so consumed in her writing, she hadn’t noticed. 

She shut her eyes and enjoyed the breeze. The warmth of the sun compensated for the chilliness of the day. But when she closed her eyes, all she could see was the form of two lovers a few decks above her, the blonde curled up lovingly in her dark haired lover’s embrace, one who looked far too much like Jon for her to ignore or forget.

_You knew he had a fiancé, so stop being ridiculous_, she reminded herself. She was conscious of the stares she was receiving, which shouldn’t have surprised her but it did. Even among first class passengers, a woman in men’s attire caused a stir.

Sighing to herself, she decided to rectify that and went in search for her room. She passed through the steel-walled third class entrance on C deck, catching a brief glorious glimpse of the white-walled general room. She paused to look before being hurried along by the stewards assigned to the area and then descended the steel stairways and entered the maze of corridors along which the small cabins were located.

There was a bit of commotion in the crowded halls, and it took only a few minutes for Sansa to figure out why. There seemed to be no regularity to the cabins’ numbering, and there were frequent pauses, questions, discussions with the stewards inquiring which cabin belonged to whom. Jammed like sardines and waiting for orders.

She took a look at her ticket and decided to chance it. Murmuring apologies, the redhead eased herself through the corridor, peering over shoulders and rising onto the tips of her toes to catch a glimpse of cabin numbers as she made her way through the maze. She only stopped once to inquire about her cabin location to a young steward, who then asked to see her ticket. He pointed out the section letter on her ticket and pointed her in the general direction of where it would be. Before she could ask again, he turned to face another angry passenger, harried and a little more than desperate. Despite the situation, she felt for him and decided not venture out on her own.

She did notice that once third class passengers found their cabins, they were not directed towards other areas of the ship. No one pointed the way to stairways or described the complex combination of companionways and stairs which would lead to general rooms, dining saloons, or the open deck. Considering the vast number of passengers in third class compared to the number of stewards, it didn’t come much as a surprise.

She finally came across her cabin 42 Section E and let herself in. There were only two beds inside the room, which meant she would be meeting her bunkmate sometime soon. Seeing that she was the first one there, she took advantage of the solitude and slipped out of her men’s garb and into something more feminine. The dress, while nothing fancy or elaborate, fitted her nicely. The varying shades of dark green complimented her ivory skin and her fiery hair. 

Shoving her clothes back into her bag, Sansa then set about claiming her bed by draping her coat on top. She tucked away her bag underneath her bed. 

The steel door opened, producing another burst of noise from the dwindling crowds in the corridor. Quickly, a young man entered the cabin and leaned heavily against the door, apparently glad to be away from the madness.

It took roughly a minute for him to realize he wasn’t alone.

His eyes widened. “I… I wasn’t aware the accommodations were coed.”

Sansa suppressed her amusement at the genuine bewilderment on the young man’s face. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, nineteen at the most. “I’m just as surprised as you,” she said instead, deciding against telling him that she had won a man’s ticket at a poker game. Most likely the White Star Line would encourage such a thing, especially if the passengers hadn’t purchased their tickets together. “We’ll be spending our nights together for the duration of the voyage.”

The young man’s face flushed a bright red. “Oh, I… erm…”

Sansa smiled reassuringly, barely suppressing a giggle. “As you can see there are two beds, sir. Have no fear.”

“Oh,” he murmured weakly. He looked from her bed to the one that was across the tiny cabin and visibly relaxed. “Well, since you’ve pointed out the journey ahead, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Podrick Payne.” He held out his hand, smiling shyly.

Her smile warmed and accepted his hand. “And I’m Sansa Stark. It is nice to meet you.”

Podrick smiled. “And you as well, miss.”

The young Podrick Payne settled himself onto his bed, and the pair fell easily into conversation. Judging from his accent, he was a young Scotsman, the only child of a infantryman and a seafarer’s daughter as she soon learned. 

His father traveled much and was rarely home, leaving the task of child rearing to his mother who struggled financially for years. They lived in the highlands of Scotland what had once been beautiful and full of culture until that fateful day at Culloden, which all but wiped out the major highland clans. When he was old enough, he helped his mother keep a roof over their heads by helping his grandfather at the docks, doing whatever he could to earn the extra money. When he was old enough, he’d always promised himself, he would find a way to make real money in order to help his mother.

And it wasn’t until news of the Titanic’s maiden voyage to America he found the opportunity.

“Is she with you?” Sansa inquired but suspected she already knew the answer.

Podrick shook his head regretfully. “No, she couldn’t make it. She’s fallen ill recently, unable to make the journey. We have cousins taking care of her until I can find a job in America, make enough money, and send it to her.”

“That’s very sweet of you. And noble.” Sansa smiled and wondered if Robb had any positions available in his manufacturing business…

“I’m sorry. You must think I’m cad for talking so much about myself, when I haven’t asked about you,” Podrick apologized sheepishly.

She assured him, “No, I don’t think poorly of you. I enjoy talking to people, learning their stories. It’s actually what I’ve been doing for the past few years in Europe.”

His dark eyebrows rose. “Now there’s a story in there somewhere.”

Once again, Sansa found herself sharing the tale of how she came to travel across Europe and her family background. She still held back to the fact that the Starks had recently acquired new money. She didn’t want this to influence this budding new friendship, and she was already growing rather fond of the young man, who was very interested in all she had to share.

“And when was the last time you spoke with your family?” he asked.

Sansa winced a little. “It’s been a little while. I had telegrammed with my intentions of coming home soon, but I don’t believe I mentioned that I would be traveling on the Titanic.” Mostly because she hadn’t known she would be until the night of the poker game, but that went without saying.

Podrick’s face brightened. “You know, there’s a telegraph here on the ship. I’m sure we could get a message to your family.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “Do you think that’s possible?” Excitement rushed through her. To telegraph her family from this very ship…

He nodded. “I’m sure there is one. I’ve heard the stewards talking about it. It’s somewhere near the staff area? Near the captain’s quarters possibly.”

Sansa frowned a little. “Doesn’t that mean it’s only available for first class passengers?”

Podrick shook his head. “Not if you know someone in the crew.”

It was Sansa’s turn to raise her brows. “And you know someone in the crew?”

Podrick grinned. “I surely do. Met him a handful of times I’ve been to England to visit my father. Gendry Waters. I think he managed to find himself a position in the crew. He’s a good bloke, for an Englishman.”

“And you know exactly where to find him?”

“It’s a large ship,” he admitted, “but I’m certain we can find him. Write your message you wish to send, and we’ll slip it to him just in case we can’t get there ourselves.”

Nodding, Sansa retrieved her journal and ripped out a blank sheet of paper. She wrote that she would be seeing them sooner than she had expected and was very happy to do so. The message had to be kept simple for transmission’s sake. She sighed her name along with a heart and tucked the note in her dress pocket.

“I’m ready,” Sansa enthused, rising to her feet. 

Feeding off her sudden energy, Podrick surged to his feet and offered her his arm. “We may have to run the risk of running into first class territory to find him, though.”

Sansa paused before taking his arm, her thoughts suddenly turning to Jon. Just thinking she would run into him again sent her heart aflutter. _Damn him_, she thought. “All right. Let’s risk it.”

Podrick grinning. “Whatever you say, milady.”

And then they were off.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite his growing apathy, even Jon had to admit their stateroom was nothing short of exquisite. The walls were a beautiful, rich brown with gold trimmings. The furniture was just as luxurious. One of the doors led to a lavatory, which was far larger than the flat he and his mother would have shared with their impending eviction from their once grand apartments. 

With his father having gambled away the family fortune, the eviction would have been inevitable. The whirlwind romance his mother had established for him and Daenerys had taken much of the heat from their misfortunes, but as soon as the excitement of new gossip faded, it wouldn’t take long for the whispering to stir up again. The Titanic naturally was their saving grace, or at least it was for his mother.

Before his father had passed, before all the drinking and gambling and incessant debts, they had lived in America for a time. Jon couldn’t have been more than eight or ten at the time, but he could still remember the winter months in Augusta, Maine. Sometimes his father had taken him to the edge of the state line right up to the Canadian border. At the time, he had no idea what his father had been up to, only knowing that it was a wonderful adventure. Looking back on it, he had to wonder if whatever his father had engaged in was legal. It hardly mattered now, but he still wasn’t sure if he wished to know. What he did know was he would never ask his mother about it. It wasn’t worth the hour lecture.

Summers were warm but winters could be downright freezing, sometimes even below freezing. None of that had bothered Jon in the least. He considered himself a winter child at heart, and living in that New England state during his childhood, he felt the north was in his blood, even if it was technically northeast.

“Jon, where do you want… this?”

Pulled out of reverie, Jon turned and found Daenerys holding a new painting he had acquired prior to the voyage. While he shouldn’t have bought it, he hadn’t the heart to walk away from an artist who was just starting out. He knew that artists experienced some of the most financial stress, something he knew a little about himself. He doubled the price of what the artist was asking and requested to find himself someplace warm to stay for the night.

If his mother knew, she would have a fit or his head, whatever came first.

Judging from the mild disdain for the artwork, he suspected that his fiancé wasn’t a fan of Cubism. “I’ll see if I have enough room in the safe for it,” he remarked. He’d initially wanted to hang it on the wall but felt it was better to keep it out of anyone’s sight, despite his disinclination to hide it.

“I only ask because… your mother most likely wouldn’t approve of it being on display,” the blonde remarked. Jon was surprised to see an upwards quirk of her mouth. “It might clash with the decor.”

That was the first remark that vaguely resembled a disparaging. When he didn’t immediately response, Daenerys was quick to backtrack. “Your mother has specific tastes. I hope I didn’t offend.”

“No, no. You didn’t. You just surprised me is all,” he said, allowing his amusement to reveal itself. “I am curious to know, what you think. What is your taste?”

Daenerys gazed the picture, brows furrowed and lips ever so slightly. It was apparent she was putting in a great deal of effort to censor herself, and it only made him laugh. “Your silence is enough. It’s all right. I wasn’t expecting us to like the same things.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I suppose we’ll have the rest of our lives to discover things we do like, in common.”

Jon’s mirth dimmed. He gave her a brief smile before saying, “I’ll find a place for this.”

Although the ship and accommodations were quite grand, it appeared that the man who designed the ship had rather Puritanical views regarding male and female companionship. Only married couples were allowed to share the same dwelling, resulting in those who were engaged to be married resided in joined but separate rooms. Jon held no Puritanical beliefs but felt compelled to find the man and shake his hand to express his sincerest gratitude and relief.

It wasn’t that Daenerys wasn’t an attractive woman, because she was. Fair in hair and parlor, she possessed an air about her that drew people to her. He had been told by a fair many people that he was incredibly lucky to have her, and several of them were men who were clearly jealous. And sure, she might have let a sheltered life that might have reflected in some of her comments and attitudes, but he couldn’t very well judge her. He hardly knew her. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie in bed with another woman he wasn’t in love with.

Not when his thoughts constantly strayed to another woman, one with hair as bright as fire.

Shaking his head, Jon carefully stored away the painting, a rather snug fit but somehow managed to fit it without any damage. He had just secured the lock when the stateroom door opened and Ruth DeWitt Bukater-Snow entered grandiosely, without even having the courtesy to knock. Viserys held the door open for his mother, and their eyes locked. There was something about those eyes that disconcerted Jon. They were almost… reptilian, in a way.

“Ah, darling. There you are,” his mother greeted warmly and gave her soon to be daughter-in-law an indulgent smile. “These rooms are just exquisite, aren’t they?”

“Very much so,” Daenerys replied. “I hope we’ll get to meet the man who built this magnificent ship. Rumor has it he’s on board with us.”

“Oh, yes. The rumors are true. In fact,” Ruth remarked, practically preening as she placed an affectionate hand on Viserys’ arm, “your brother was able to get us a seat at Mr. Andrews’ table. How wonderful!”

Viserys smiled with absolutely no humility. “Never underestimate the respectability of old money.”

Ruth chortled affectionately while Jon struggled to conceal his frown. With a quick glance towards Daenerys, he was surprised to see she appeared to struggle with the same dilemma, but at least she managed a smile, even if it were forced.

They agreed to meet in the dining saloon for lunch with Mr. Andrews and some other notable members of the Titanic crew when the bell announced the lunching hour. Feeling ridiculously closed in a room so spacious, Jon excused himself to take a tour of the ship’s facilities, so that he could better commend the ship’s designer on the well crafted nature of the ship. At least that’s what he said to placate his mother.

He took his time traveling along the veranda, nodding vaguely to the other first class passengers walking by. Some of the women sitting in the wicker chairs gave him meaningful glances from behind their fans. Jon felt a traitorous blush warm his cheeks and hastened away. 

A few passengers were walking their dogs along the promenade, and Jon, an avid dog lover, couldn’t resist stopping to make conversations with them, if only to pet their furry companions, who yapped and licked at his fingers from the attention. Surprisingly, the one couple he talked to were not as pretentious in nature as many of the first class passengers carried themselves, and he was pleasantly surprised when he enjoyed their company.

“You should join us for lunch,” the gentleman remarked, his woman companion nodding in approval.

Jon smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I already have plans my mother, fiancé, and my soon to be brother-in-law. Perhaps dinner tonight?”

“That would be wonderful!” the woman enthused. “Just make sure to discuss it with your fiancé. Wouldn’t want her to think we’re stealing your company.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

The corners of Jon’s eyes crinkled as he grinned, finding the woman’s mischief infectious. “I’ll be certain to do that.” Then he realized he hadn’t caught either of their names. “Forgive me, but I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Jon Snow.” He chose the shortened version since his full name would only be a mouthful.

The golden haired man smiled. “I’m Loras Tyrell, and this is my sister, Margaery Tyrell.”

Jon blinked with surprise. And to think a moment ago he had thought they were husband and wife. Apparently, the line of thought must have appeared across his face because Margaery laughed and patted his arm. “It’s all right. Many people tend to think of us as married. I could hardly blame them. We’re practically joined at the hip.”

Not knowing quite what to say to that, Jon smiled sheepishly before saying he would gladly pass along the invitation to the others. Soon the trio parted ways. He returned inside the ship just in time to catch a glimpse of copper out of the corner of his eye.

At first, he dismissed it. No, it couldn’t have been. But when he looked again, the flash of copper turned, revealing porcelain skin, and he knew right then and there it was her.

Throat suddenly dry, he couldn’t shout after her, knowing it would draw too much attention to her. Why would she come back all this way to risk being hauled back to third class lodgings?

Hope blossomed inside his chest. Unless she was looking for him?

“Oh, stop it,” he muttered to himself, trying his best to think logically but clearly logic couldn’t overrule the sudden pounding of his heart. He stood there, observing her with an unknowing soft smile. When the crowds dispersed a little, he noticed she was no longer in trousers and coat but was instead in a green day dress that complimented her complexion and made her hair appear even brighter. There were no fancy frills or lace or anything to it, at least from what he could tells from the distance, but the simplicity of the dress only emphasized her beauty.

Then a young man who stood beside her grasped her hand and led her off. Frowning, Jon pulled himself up straight and proceeded to follow them without another thought. Whatever they were up to, it was clear they didn’t desire for anyone to notice them, which provided him with the perfect reason he needed, to offer some protection.

And to discover the name of the man holding Sansa’s hand.

Soon enough he found themselves heading towards the officers’ quarters, which nearly gave him pause. He nearly called out to them when suddenly an officer stepped out from one of the rooms and spotting the pair, asking indignantly, “What are you doing here?”

Before either Sansa or her male companion could response, Jon quickly intercepted. “They’re with me.” He jogged towards them to close the distance. “My apologies.” He offered to them before looking back towards the officer. “I thought we were going to meet in the lobby, but I ran a little behind schedule.” He looked at the officer who was barely his own height and age. He raised his brows a little. “Is there a problem?”

Realizing he was speaking with a first class passenger, the officer’s demeanor changed immediately. He appeared more contrite. “Not at all, though I’m afraid that any passengers aren’t allowed past this point.”

Any passengers, or third class passengers, he wanted to ask but refrained. Still, the look on his face must have expressed the thought because the officer shifted awkwardly.

Jon glanced down and noted the crumbled piece of paper in Sansa’s white knuckled grip, and was able to quickly put two and two together. “Maybe you can help me then. I was hoping to deliver a telegram, back to my family in the states. I was told there was such a device on board.”

The officer’s face brightened. “Of course, air. It’s located in the Marconi suite, a series of three rooms on the port side of the officers’ quarters that included a sleeping berth, the telegraph operator’s room, and a “Silent Room” where the main telegraph transmitter was located.” 

That was more information than needed, but it was clear he was doing his very best to be helpful, most likely to make amends for his treatment of Sansa and the other young man, both of whom he ignored. 

“If you come back later, we can send your message off for you,” the officer continued. “Our crew is a bit busy at the moment.”

“I understand,” Jon remarked, nodding lightly. “We’ll return at a more convenient time.” He gestured for the others to follow him. “Sorry to disturb you,” he added, with such an utter lack of sincerity it nearly made Sansa laugh.

“Much obliged,” the officer remarked before disappearing down the corridor. Towards the Marconi suite, he highly doubted.

“You keep coming to my rescue, Mr. Snow,” Sansa observed with an upward curve of her lips.

Jon shrugged, his smile matching her own. “I know. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Their gaze met and held, long enough for someone to clear their throat loudly.

Startled, she turned to her companion, who was observing the pair of them very curiously. “I’m sorry. Jon, this is Podrick Payne, my cabinmate for the duration of the trip. Podrick, this is Jon Snow.”

The two men shook hands, and Jon was relieved to discover that the younger man was not a potential paramour but merely a curious friend. “Nice to meet you,” Podrick said.

“Likewise,” Jon remarked, his gaze drifting towards Sansa even before the handshake ended. “So what was the plan with the telegram? Go into the officer’s quarters and make a demand?”

Podrick flushed sheepishly. “Actually, we were searching for a friend of mine, Gendry Waters. He’s a steward, and I knew he wouldn’t mind doing me a favor. We couldn’t find him.”

“Probably busy making sure everyone boards safely,” Jon remarked. Podrick nodded. He then took another glance at Sansa’s clenched fist. Whatever the note said, it clearly meant a great deal to her. It didn’t take long for him to make up his mind.

He held out a hand. “I’ll see what I can do about your message.”

Sansa hesitated. “But the man just said…”

“I don’t care what he said,” Jon insisted. “I’m sure there’s some bloke in there with enough training to deliver the message. I’ll see to it.” When she continued to hesitate, he asked gently, “Do you trust me?”

Sansa looked from her hand towards Jon’s and then back to his face. “I think I do.” She passed him the note, which he smoothed out carefully without reading any of its contents.

“I’ll be right back.”

It only took a handful of minutes, but Jon managed to convince the Phillips boy to send the message, among a few other things. When he joined Sansa and Podrick again at the edge of the corridor, the two looked at him anxiously.

Jon relayed the terms of his agreement with Phillips. “He’ll make sure the message gets sent. If another other messages are addressed to you, he’ll pass them along through Gendry, who will make sure the messages get to me.” At Sansa’s surprised expression, he was quick to reassure her that he would not read any of her messages. 

Before he could say anything more, Sansa threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. The press of her slender, feminine form was doing things to him, things he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Before he could fully wrap his arms around her, she was already withdrawing, her face alit with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Jon. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Smiling, Jon reached up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear but noticed an amused Podrick watching them closely and immediately dropped his hand. “I’m happy to do it. I just hope the message gets into the right hands.”

Sansa tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “I think my brother Robb might have access to one or knows somebody who has one. Hopefully, he’ll get it either way and tell the rest of my family.”

Jon touched her hand reassuringly. “I’m sure it will.”

And then suddenly Podrick was right beside them. “You know, Jon, I hear there’s going to be a party this evening down below deck,” he said innocently, “and I think you would like it. You should come.” Sansa turned her head quickly and gave Podrick an unreadable look, which the younger man either could not interpret or chose to ignore. 

Either way, Jon was intrigued. “Really? About what time?”

“Festivities begin as soon as the musicians arrive, which could be any time after supper,” Podrick replied. “Lots of singing, dancing, and drinking. Should be fun. Though probably not as dignified as the kinds of things they have in first class.”

“And what makes you think I’m not dignified?” Jon asked, more curious than offended.

Podrick and Sansa shared a look, though it was Sansa who replied, “You seem to care about the little guy. And you don’t stand for pretenses.” She gave him a considering look and then smiled decisively. “If you decide to come, you can find me on the third class deck. I’ll be the lady in green.” She touched her tousled loose curls self-consciously. “And hopefully better looking hair.”

“You look perfect just the way you are,” Jon blurted out unthinkingly, prompting both of them to blush furiously.

Grinning, Podrick took Sansa by the arm. “All right, you two. We best be going, lest we want to get arrested for trespassing. Hope to see you tonight, Jon. And it was nice to meet you.”

Sansa turned to go but paused. She took a step forward and pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured against his skin and left before he could do anything about it.

Jon brought his hand to his cheek, still feeling the warm press of her lips long after he set off towards the dining saloon for lunch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Ismay's, Molly Brown's, and Mr. Andrews' first few lines are directly from the Titanic. It helps guide the scene along and helps to establish a bond between Thomas Andrews and Jon.

“She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history,” J. Bruce Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, declared. He sat at the head of their luncheon table and continued singing the Titanic’s praises with the utmost enthusiasm, bordering on religious zealousness. “And our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel plates up.”

Mr. Andrews, sitting across from Jon, nodded with a slight smile. It was apparent he wasn’t a man that craved the spotlight and was very humble in the face of his latest accomplishment. “Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is. Willed into solid reality.”

Jon and the others were not the only ones in Mr. Andrews’ and Mr. Ismay’s company. A woman named Molly Brown was also present at their table. Short and sturdy, Molly Brown was a feisty woman, one Jon only had just met but instantly took a liking to. Apparently, his mother had known her from previous social engagements and cared very little for her. There was a strange disdain for those who had acquired “new money”, though Jon found his mother’s apparent dislike of the woman particularly ironic, considering their circumstances.

Molly patted the corner of her mouth with her napkin before setting it down back in her lap. “Why're ships always bein' called "she"? Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?”

Everyone laughed at their table, with the exception of Ruth, who distracted herself from drinking from her teacup. Jon shared a grin with Molly, who winked at him playfully before commenting, “Just another example of the men settin' the rules their way.”

Jon returned his attention to Mr. Andrews. “Shipbuilding appears to be an expanding industry these days. Could you tell me more about your experiences? From the moment I heard about Titanic’s voyage, I read through as many volumes as I could on the subject. It’s very interesting.”

Mr. Andrews’s face brightened at the prospect of engaging in a conversation geared towards shipbuilding, and Jon found himself absorbed in an enthralling history lesson of shipbuilding and design from ancient times up until the present. He found himself asking many questions to satisfy his growing curiosity, and the other man was more than happy to indulge him. In fact, he appeared very much appreciative that someone was taking an interest in the field at the table other than himself.

When he was asked about his degree, Jon felt his face grow hot. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to finish his degree at Oxford when his father had past. With no money left to fund his tuition coupled with the amount of gambling debt, he had no choice but to discontinue his studies. He opened his mouth to explain when suddenly his mother’s hand covered his. “With my late husband’s passing, my son has taken time from Oxford to take care of me. Once we’re in America, he’ll resume his studies.” She squeezed his hand and smiled at him indulgently. “What is your degree in? Finance?”

Jon smiled tightly. “Initially, I began with a business degree, but I had taken primarily core courses required of all students in their earlier years of study. Once we’re settled in our new home, I’m considering changing it.”

Ruth’s nails dug into Jon’s hand in displeasure though her face remained carefully neutral. “Oh?”

He caught a glimpse of Viserys’ narrowed gaze along with Daenerys’s curious look. Preparing himself for the inevitable fallout he anticipated would later occur behind closed doors, he continued, “After reading everything I could on shipbuilding, I’m interested in engineering.”

Molly Brown gave him a nod of approval. “Very good field to go into. A fine young man like you would do well in it.”

Mr. Andrews nodded encouragingly. “It is indeed. It’s an expanding field, and many areas require engineering. Including shipbuilding. But perhaps I’m biased in that area.”

“Jon,” Ruth murmured in not quite a hiss. “This is hardly appropriate talk to have at lunch.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What’s inappropriate about it?”

Mr. Andrews looked apologetic. “I didn’t intend to stir anything up. My apologies.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, sir,” Jon remarked before turning back to his mother. “Engineering is a respectable field.”

“A field for _laborers_,” she sneered.

“Now who’s being inappropriate?” he asked lowly. When she jerked her hand away from his, he noted the sharp red indentions from her nails.

“Your mother is right to be concerned,” Viserys interjected, coming to Ruth’s defense. “Business is a far more respectable field, which makes your initial choice of degree more appropriate. Always go with your gut.”

Daenerys looked at her brother. “And what is your degree in, brother, to give you the right to critique someone else’s choices?”

It was the first time Jon witnessed his fiancé stand up to her arse of a brother. While he might not have been in love with her, he was impressed at the way she handled herself. Judging from the slight purpling of her brother’s face, that was bound to lead to trouble. He frowned deeply when their eyes locked. Viserys was the one to break eye contact first and sulkily cut into his lamb chop.

He should have left well enough alone, but a fire simmered inside him, one he couldn’t ignore. “Engineering doesn’t necessarily mean I would perform physical labor, but I have no problem with an honest day’s hard work. It provides perspective. And it’s even more satisfying to know you’ve earned your money, instead of inheriting it.”

A sudden hush fell over the table. Ruth’s face had grown red while Mr. Ismay stared at him win dismay. Viserys’s face once again near turned purple, while Molly Brown gazed at him with pleased admiration. He barely glanced at Daenerys but caught her look of curiosity.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” came the quiet reply of Thomas Andrews, which gained Jon’s surprised attention. He nodded at the boy, giving him a slight toast with his brandy before taking a sip. He had just earned his respect.

With that being said, Jon downed the rest of his brandy before saying, “My apologies for the turn conservation, but I don’t think I have the stomach for dessert. Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Andrews.” He nodded respectfully to him and then smiled at Molly Brown. “And it was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Brown.”

Mrs. Brown grinned. “And it was a delight to meet you, Jon. Don’t ever change.”

Ruth inhaled sharply and made to reach for him, but he was already up and leaving their table. God knew, he could use the fresh air.

\---

“Not sure if we should be in here,” Podrick remarked as he followed Sansa, weaving in and out of the cooks in the third class galley. 

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” she asked playfully. One of the cooks was screaming in French at his fellow cooks in arms, and over the clatter of pots and pans, it was difficult to make out. Sansa managed to catch le couteau during his tirade and quickly found a carving knife. Tapping the irate French cook on the shoulder, she handed him the knife and took off with Podrick hot at her heels, deciding not to stick around to see if she had selected the right knife.

It was far too small to accommodate enough cooks on one hand, let alone feeding an entire deck of people for a voyage. Still, she admired them for their effort and wished there was something she could do for them. Well, there was one thing she could do. She recalled her travels in Europe and knew very well how difficult the work kitchen staff maintained. To make ends meet, she had to take different jobs to pay her way, and working in a kitchen had been one of them. They quickly made themselves scarce so the cooks could work in relative peace. Spotting their coats hanging on racks, she quickly slipped a few of coins from her poker winnings into each of the cooks’ coats on the way out.

The pair found themselves at the main entrance and agreed to just walk and see where they feet took them.

“I still want to introduce you to Gendry,” Podrick said, his hands tucked inside his pockets as they walked. “He knows all of the best places on the ships, places we probably not ought to go.”

Sansa grinned. “All the more reason to find him then.”

He returned her grin. “Exactly.” He gave her a curious glance. “You’re quite bold for a woman, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind. Actually, I wasn’t always this way. If you had met me a few years ago, I don’t think bold would’ve described me. Traveling has definitely provided me with perspective, a new sense of self. It’s brilliant and frightening and a little bit crazy, but I wouldn’t trade the experience for the world.”

He nodded sagely. “A woman of the world.”

She curtsied gracefully, prompting them both to chuckle.

“Of course you wouldn’t regret your experiences,” he said. “It makes you who you are. And I’m assuming that would mean you don’t regret any of the people you meet along the way.”

“Well, I certainly don’t regret meeting you,” Sansa said, looping her arm through his, “though it’s only been a few hours into the voyage. I might change my mind, a woman’s prerogative.”

“Fair enough.” He hummed thoughtfully. “And I suppose it also goes without saying that you wouldn’t regret meeting a certain dark haired gentleman who saved our hides with the telegram.”

Sansa had sensed where he’d been going with that first bit but had purposefully attempted to redirect the conversation. Apparently, the Irishman decided to abandon subtlety. She blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Podrick laughed. “Oh, come on, love! We might have only known each other for a few hours, but I never thought of you as a liar.”

“I am not!”

“Well, a denier then.”

She puffed out her cheeks and released a breath. “Fine. Yes, you win.” She eyed him shrewdly. “My, you’re an observant one, aren’t you? Maybe you should consider becoming an investigator. Or a barrister.”

Podrick snorted a little at that. “That’s about as likely as me finding a lady in first class.”

Sansa squeezed his arm. “You never know. You’re quite the catch, Podrick Payne.”

It was his turn to blush. “And you’re quite good at being evasive. We were talking about your mystery man. What’s his name?”

She sighed. “He’s not my man.” When it was clear he would not be deterred, she added, “His name is Jon Snow. And I repeat, he is not my man. He’s engaged.”

“Not for long if what I witnessed was anything to go by,” he remarked.

Dismayed, Sansa demanded, “What do you mean?”

“The way you looked at him, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off you. The very fact he forgot to introduce himself to me while basking in your presence.”

Sansa laughed, blushing more deeply. “Oh, that’s just… I wasn’t. He wasn’t… Why can’t I finish a bloody sentence?”

Podrick grinned cheekily. “Oh, love. You’ve got it bad.”

“We only met this morning!” she insisted.

He shrugged. “Logic and reasoning doesn’t usually factor into attraction.” They walked in silence for a little while before he added, “I hope Jon Snow can make it to the party tonight.”

Biting her lower lip, the redhead hesitated a moment before murmuring, “I hope he does, too.”


End file.
